As soon as a mist ache is maid
it nose bee four two long
And eye can putt the error rite its rare lea ever wrong.

Eye strike a quay and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather I am wrong or rite
It shows me strait a weigh.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased too no
It's letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

Courtesy of Mrs. Dorothy Bratt